


He doesn't know who he is

by Little_marie



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Racism, Sleepwalking, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_marie/pseuds/Little_marie
Summary: On Hiatus!!Steve thinks Billy is a demodog trying to sneak in through his bedroom window and wacks him in the face. "Why is Billy in Steve's window?" is probably the question to be asking.-“You know, you can leave. Why am I even helping you?” Steve said, gesturing to the door. Billy didn’t move.“Maybe because you’re the reason I’m bleeding everywhere?”





	1. Demon dogs

Steve had forgotten what it felt like to feel at ease. He could hear every scattering leaf on the pavement, every branch that scratched up against his bedroom window. When his mum would walk up the stairs late at night, Steve would freeze up, unable to make a sound. In his mind’s eye, oil slicked beasts with hundreds of yellow teeth crept up to his bedroom door. Thick, rancid saliva left puddles under their feet as they’d reach up with their sticky black claws and turn the door knob. It would creak open, flooding his room with light and the smell of mould and rotting bodies. And then Steve would watch his Mum step in front of the light, her silhouette casting over his bedroom floor, and the feeling would start to come back to his fingers again. There was no peace for Steve Harrington.

 

The first time Billy forced open Steve's window, Steve thought he was something from the upside-down and tore his earring out with one of the nails on the end of his bat. If it had been a demodog, Steve would be dead. His arms had been too shaky to get a good swing and he’d only grazed the side of his face, hence the earring. Billy swore very loud, but Steve’s parents weren’t home to investigate the noise.

“Shit, what the fuck?”

Steve didn’t say anything in response. But he did think about pushing Billy’s head back out the window.

Billy held the side of his face in shock and whispered “My ear.”

“What the hell are you doing in my window?” said Steve. He was getting annoyed now, the shock had worn off and Steve just wanted to go to sleep. It had to be at least one am, perhaps two, but that was just a guess. He’d stopped watching the clock after his psychologist told him it would only make his insomnia worse.

Billy didn’t say anything for a moment, gripping the window frame awkwardly. Steve had no idea what he could be standing on, his window was on the second floor and away from his parents’ balcony.

“Look. Can you step away from the window so I can get in? I’m going to fall.”

Steve watched Billy’s arms starting to tremor under the strain. He stepped back, then turned and walked out of his room. Halfway to the bathroom, he heard the thump of Billy’s body landing hard on his floor. Steve imagined a pair of demodogs crawling in through his window after Billy, overwhelming him like shadows.

He had to resist the urge to peak around the corner before he entered the room with this first aid kit. Billy was standing in the middle of the room acting like he didn’t notice that there was blood running down his neck into his t-shirt, and if Steve wasn’t so confused, he might have laughed. Billy looked too big for Steve’s room.

Steve nodded his head towards his desk chair, holding up his first aid kit. Once Billy was sitting, Steve opened it up on the floor in front of him and stared at the contents, pulling things out and looking at labels. This went on for a bit too long before Billy seemed to realise Steve had no idea what he was doing. He leant down and grabbed an antiseptic spray, some gauze and a roll of tape, dumping it all into his lap before uncapping the spray. He held it up to his head and missed his ear, spraying his hair instead. The liquid was brown like dried blood. Steve took it from him, then began to wipe it off with a wet face washer to start again. He hadn't expected how much blood would come out of an ear wound and had to fetch another towel before he could keep going. Billy sat and waited, silent for once.

“Why are you here?” Steve asked again, gentler this time.

“Why did you smash me in the head with Max’s baseball bat?” replied Billy. He kept his eyes focused on the wall in front of him as Steve began to spray the bleeding ear. Most of the blood was coming out of a gash in his neck, not the actual ear. Steve gently pulled the earing the rest of the way out and gave it to Billy to hold.

“It’s my bat actually, Max just took it.” Steve pressed the gauze onto Billy’s ear as he talked.

“She still hasn’t told me what happened that night. What was _happening._ ” Billy replied, his eyes flicking to Steve’s, then back to the wall. He picked up the roll of tape and began to rip bits off for him.

Steve cleared his throat and straightened up, stepping away from him slightly. “What happened that night was just part of that weird science lab business with the little Byers kid. There were, um, people, like old scientists and stuff, coming around to the houses of the families involved and threatening them to keep ‘em quiet. The kids wanted to stick together and um, help? I guess, and I wasn’t gonna just leave them.”

“Oooh right, I totally believe you, man!” Billy rolled his eyes, sarcasm weighing down his words.

“You know, you can leave. Why am I even helping you?” Steve said, gesturing to the door. Billy didn’t move.

“Maybe because you’re the reason I’m bleeding everywhere?”

Steve sighed, then took some tape from Billy’s outstretched fingers and began to stick the gauze to his ear and neck. “You really didn’t have to use the window. My parents are out of town.”

“Well, maybe your neighbours are rubberneckers,” said Billy.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” Steve stuck down his last piece of tape. “I’m guessing it wasn’t to discuss my bat.”

“Or to get hit by it.” Billy got up with a huff and went to check his reflection in Steve’s mirror. “I’ll have a nice scar though, so I’ll have to thank you when this heals up. Nance into guys with scars? Or just ones that hang out with little kids.”

“Alright, time to go.” Steve grabbed Billy’s arm to pull him out of his room but paused when he felt the muscles tense up almost instantly. He took his hand back quickly, not liking how Billy’s eyes went glassy the second he’d touched him. “Sorry,” muttered Steve, not quite sure what he was apologising for. Billy blinked and the empty look was gone.

“Look, man. I just wanted to come by and clear a few things up. Get Maxine off my ass, you know?” Billy said, making eye contact with Steve through the mirror.

Steve frowned. “So, you climbed through my window in the middle of the night because Max told you to? I don’t follow, Hargrove.”

Billy turned away from the mirror and walked back over to the window. “Can I smoke?”

“Not inside, we can go down the pool if you want,” Steve replied. His Mum always complained when Tommy and Carol would smoke inside, even if it had been days before she arrived back home.

Billy snorted, then waved his arm towards the door. He followed Steve down the stairs, letting his boots fall too heavily and running his hands down both bannisters. For the second time that night, Steve found himself marvelling at the amount of space Billy’s presence consumed. He felt smaller next to him, despite his advantage in height.

 

They ended up sitting on the same deck chairs Steve had sat in with Tommy, Carol and Nancy the night Barb had gone missing. Steve had moved them, so they were backed onto the house. He felt less vulnerable that way.

Billy grabbed one of the chairs and moved it to face Steve. The cigarette he lit burned a dull hole in Steve’s mind, and he almost forgot why Billy was sitting in front of him. Billy drew in a deep lungful of smoke and tilted his head up to the night sky to exhale, closing his eyes and sighing. Steve watched his jaw and his throat and his pursed lips and waited.

Eyes cracking open, Billy muttered, “I gotta thank you, Steve.” He shifted a bit in his chair. “You saved Max that night, from something. She told me the same bullshit story you just did, but I hear her grumbling about monsters in her sleep. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it but...” Billy trailed off to suck in another breath of smoke, “I saw them that night. I woke up in a bush outside and they were the first thing I saw. They were on the roof, I thought they were dogs until one came right past me. It was going to eat me, I really fucking think so, and I couldn’t even move yet. That shit Max shot into me woke my brain up before the rest of my body. Shit’s terrifying.” For a moment, Steve didn't think Billy would continue as he started sucking on his cigarette again.

“It got right up to my legs, and I could hear another one just about here.” He gestured behind his head with his free hand. “One moment it was sniffing my knee, the next… Fucking off to god knows where. The one behind me actually jumped over me. They smelled like-”

“Death.” Steve finished for him. Billy nodded once. “Like death, yeah. Did they get close to Max?”

“Kinda,” Steve said, scratching his neck. “Earlier that day, we were at that junk yard on the hill. We thought there was only one and that I could kill it. We were ambushed.”

Billy shivered, then propped his feet up on the side of Steve’s deck chair.

“And then later, the kids shoved me into your car and drove us to the demodogs’ cave thing. I don’t really remember much but I know we are all lucky to be alive. Hopper says they’re dead, he watched them die in the lab.”

“What the fuck, man,” said Billy, his forgotten cigarette burning closer and closer to the filter. “Wait, what do you mean by-”

“No,” Steve cut him off, “I’m not saying anymore. I shouldn't have even told you that much. I’ll be in trouble if anyone finds out I did.” Steve looked across to Billy and watched his face shift and grin.

“Not if I already knew, technically I’m part of it.” Billy dropped his cigarette on the concrete and smeared it out with his boot. He leant forwards with his hands braced on his knees, closer than Steve would have liked. “I want to hear all of it.”

“No.” Steve leaned back as far as his chair would allow. “Nope.”

“Fine, I’ll just ask Maxine why she decided to drive my car to a hole filled with demon dogs, and then climb inside the hole with King Steve and his kid gang.” Billy didn’t break eye contact, and his grin only widened as Steve glared.

“Fine then, ask her. I don’t care,” Steve said shrugging. “Whatever”.

“You’re weird, man.” Billy lit another cigarette. The flame from his lighter cast shadows that deepened the grey rings under his eyes. Steve hadn’t noticed them before.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened. I’d actually rather get a visit from the CIA than tell you anything else. So, rat me out, Hargrove. I don’t care.” Steve repeated, then looked away into the blue crystal of his pool. He didn’t know if he could feel more vulnerable. He’d just told Billy exactly which of his buttons to press to get under his skin before Billy even had the chance to figure it out.

“Okay,” Billy replied and, much to Steve’s surprise, didn’t push it any further. Steve kept his eyes vacantly on the pool as Billy smoked and watched him. It was a little unnerving, but Steve felt safer than he had all night. Nothing could creep up behind him without Billy noticing. There was silence, and Steve felt peace.

“Well, one person has benefited from all of this, at least,” said Billy, a bit too loudly. Steve’s focus flicked back to him as he spoke. “My dad’s going to piss himself in excitement when he sees my earring’s been ripped out by a guy who thought I was a demon dog.”

“Demodog,” corrected Steve. Billy just cocked an eyebrow. “You could pierce the other ear?” Steve offered, not sure if he was supposed to apologise or laugh along with Billy.

“Nah man, that’s the fag side,” Billy responded without hesitation. Steve’s face went hot, and he was thankful for the semi-darkness.

“Oh, right, of course,” Steve shook his head as if to clear it.

“Although,” Billy started, “it would make him spaz out like nothing else.” Billy laughed properly this time, his breath coming out of his nose and mouth in a cloudy stream, coloured with smoke. Again, Steve didn’t know how to respond. Billy Hargrove was bantering with him, what a thought. It made Steve suspicious. What did Hargrove want from him?

“Is it just your Dad who’s a homophobe, or his son as well?” Steve questioned coldly. Recklessly. Billy already knew what Steve’s worst fear was: Dog-like, faceless demons. He had nothing else to lose.

Billy’s eyes flicked quickly from side to side, seemingly without thought, as if he was watching for eavesdropping neighbours or one of the kids peeking at them over the fence. He pulled his legs back off Steve’s chair.

“Dunno. Isn’t everyone?” Billy asked, unsure for once. Steve knew it wasn’t from shame, but embarrassment. No one in the ‘progressive’ year of ‘85 could mention homosexuality without stammering a bit.

“I’m not,” Steve replied. “Neither’s my Mum.”

“But your Dad is,” Billy pressed.

Steve nodded softly, “Yes.”

Billy considered this for a moment, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. “My Mum wasn’t either. My uncle was a poof and she was the only one in my family who would invite him over for dinner after he was caught with a naked guy in his bed.” Billy’s eyes went intense as he looked into Steve’s. “If you tell anyone about that I will murder you in your sleep with your own stupid fucking bat.”

Steve laughed despite Billy’s serious tone. “You’re all good, man. To be honest, I wouldn't even have anyone to tell.”

Billy seemed grateful for the change in subject, and hmm’d in agreement. “I haven’t seen you at any parties recently. Bonnie’s was a real rager.”

“Didn't think you’d notice,” Steve replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, guys who kidnap your little sister tend to make an impression on you,” Billy shot back. Steve had to admit to himself that Billy was quick.

“I haven't felt in the mood to go to parties.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you at one since Nancy went all crazy on you last Halloween.”

“You can’t use sister-kidnapping as an excuse for knowing that, Hargrove,” Steve said back.

Billy didn’t seem to notice he’d been called out, and just waited for Steve to keep going. Steve realised he’d finally found someone more frustrating than Dustin.

“As I said, not in the mood.”

Billy grinned. “And as _I_ said, plenty of bitches in the sea.”

Steve didn’t reply, and he began to wish again that he was back in his bed, asleep. He started thinking of ways to ask Billy to leave.

Billy stretched his legs back onto Steve’s chair. This time his boots were leaning on Steve’s thigh and Steve had to resist the urge to move away. Billy had to know it was a bit weird, right?

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! I’ll help you find a girl; you help me with Max.” Billy seemed almost excited, and he scooted further down into his chair, his feet and legs sliding further up Steve’s chair until the bottoms of his boots were pressed into the backrest. He fiddled with his cigarette, the ash flying off into the pool with the slight breeze.

“Why do you need help with Max? She told me you guys were leaving each other alone,” asked Steve.

“I need her to stop hanging around the Sinclair kid,” Said Billy, matter-of-factly.

Steve’s jaw dropped, “Are you actually fucking kidding me-”

“Wait, wait! Hear me out.” Billy put his hands up, trying to interject.

“No, you racist son of a bitch! You can’t possibly think that I would actually _help_ you-”

“ _SHUT UP_ Steve!” Billy was standing at this point, trying to yell over Steve’s outrage.

“NO! YOU shut up!” Steve took a quick breath and swallowed before continuing. ”You either shut up, or you _leave_.” He finished with his finger pointing towards the front lawn. Billy stopped yelling, then sat back down.

“Just let me explain-” Billy began in a soft, pleading voice that took Steve off guard.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want me to punch you in the face? I am not interested in hearing about your racist, bullshit rules for Max, so quit it.”

“They’re not my rules, Steve,” Billy said, again in his stupid, butter-wouldn’t-melt voice.

“Oh my god, Hargrove. You cannot blame this shit on your Dad.” Steve dragged a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You don't understand, if he knew that Sinclair was skipping ‘round town holding Max’s hand, or climbing through her bedroom window, or talking to her on those weird-shit walkie talkies, he would flip out. It’s a fucking miracle that he doesn't know already!”

Steve thought back to the day when he overheard two grandmas, Mags and Josephine, gossiping about “a little tom-boy redhead and her black boyfriend”. Steve had known who they were talking about, but had merely disregarded them as oldies whose prejudices were stuck firmly in the 60’s. He hadn’t considered how easy it would be for Neil to overhear something like that too. Or Max’s Mum.

“Susan knows,” Billy said, serious in every aspect of his being. “It’s only a matter of time before she mentions it in front of Neil.”

“And then what,” Steve muttered. “You get a bruise for not stopping them and he has to come to terms with it. Wouldn't it be better for him to find out sooner, rather than later?”

Billy’s eyes went dark and glassy like they had when Steve grabbed him. “You have no fucking clue, Harrington.” He was silent for a moment, smoking with strangely controlled movements. “More like my rotting corpse is discovered two years from now in the forest, and Sinclair’s whole goddamn family has to move out of town due to anonymous death threats.”

Steve considered this. He realised he hadn’t really connected the versions of Billy’s Dad that he’d heard about. On one hand, there was the charismatic step-dad of Max who sometimes picked her up from DnD nights at the Byers’. He’d laugh loudly at Joyce and Steve’s jokes about the kids, and ruffle Max’s hair when she popped out the front door. But on the other hand, there was the Neil that Max made sure to never let inside the Byers’ house. She would hear his car coming a mile off and collect her things like lightning, out the door before Joyce had a moment to ask after Susan. She never did that for Billy, sometimes making him wait outside for ten or fifteen minutes. Was that because she was trying to protect Lucas? And, Steve thought, the fatherly, humorous persona Neil seemed to have didn’t really fit with a man that beat his own son until he bled. The fist and shoe shaped bruises on Billy’s stomach and jaw never had badass backstories of fights with gangs or cops, but of falling down staircases and ladders. It had spread pretty fast that Billy was beaten by his Dad, but Steve had never really thought about the man behind it. He realised then that he very much believed Billy.

Billy was staring into the house behind Steve through the window. Steve watched as his eyes jumped from object to object and he wondered what Billy was looking at, especially when his eyes paused and studied something intently.

“You’ve got a huge house for someone who’s never hosted a party,” Billy stated, breaking the silence.

“I’ve hosted parties,” Steve replied.

“But not since Byers stole your girl, right?” Billy grinned knowingly.

Not since Barb was killed, Steve thought.

“You are aware that the way you’ve approached the Lucas and Max situation is very fucked up, right? Even if it’s not based on your own prejudice.” Steve wasn’t sure he believed that last bit, not entirely, but he added it in to see how Billy would take it. “Scaring the kids into submission has not worked in the slightest. Actually, I think Max is even more determined to rub their relationship in your face now.”

To Steve’s surprise, Billy nodded. “That’s why I need you, man. I need someone on the inside. She’ll never listen to me, not until it’s too late anyway. She thinks she can take on the world after fighting those demon dogs.”

Steve held his hand out for a cigarette when Billy pulled the crumpled box out of his jacket. “I’m not helping you break them up,” Steve said as Billy held out the packet to him. “I guess I can help them be more discrete? God, this is really fucked up. We are living in 1985 not the twenties.”

“I know man, shit’s fucked.” Billy leaned off his chair to pull a lighter out of his jeans’ back pocket. “There’s no way around it though, like, he _will_ find out if they don’t end it soon. Maybe even then…”

“I’ll think about it. No, not your idea, I’ll think of my own because yours sucks.” Steve said. He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and leant forwards. Billy flicked his lighter and braced his elbow on Steve’s knee, his other hand on Steve’s armrest. Steve had to bend his head down quite a bit to meet the flame, and when he chanced a look at Billy he saw him through his eyelashes. He was staring intently at the flame. Or at the cigarette. Or at Steve’s mouth. Steve couldn’t tell, and he almost forgot to breathe the flame into his cigarette while wondering.

 He watched as Billy tilted his own head to the side to light himself up, elbow still balanced on Steve’s knee. He slid it off Steve’s leg a bit too slowly, but maybe Steve only thought it was slow because his heart was beating so fast. He felt the cold air a bit more sharply when Billy was sitting back in his own chair. His heart must have been beating faster because it had gone cold all of a sudden, he reasoned. Steve thought longingly of his warm blankets upstairs. He almost regretted asking for the cigarette, now he would have to finish it before he could climb back into his bed. He had a stupid thought and it slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“It’s a bit cold, we could keep talking inside if you want? I’ve had the heat on for a few hours now and...”, Steve shrugged questioningly.

Billy snorted and blew his smoke into the sky again, and Steve watched his throat, his jaw, and his pursed lips. “Wouldn’t want to upset Mrs Harrington, would we Steve?” He stood and stretched his neck and back before crossing his arms over his chest, smoke from his cigarette rising up to curl around his gauzed ear.

“Shedidn’ttakehisname” muttered Steve, looking down at Billy’s boots to stop himself from staring too much. He didn’t know why, but his eyes could not leave Billy alone that night.

“Hmm?” replied Billy, and Steve forced himself to look up and to speak a bit louder.

“She didn’t take his name. Her name is Marla Egan. Mrs Egan.”

Billy nodded, somewhat ironically. Steve imagined he looked like a little kid to Billy, just like the kids that called him their friend.

“Well, okay.” Billy scuffed his boot into the concrete a bit before he started to turn away. “I’ll see you around, Stevie.” He mock saluted Steve with the fingers pinching his cigarette.

Steve waited until Billy was gone before getting up. He walked over to the edge of the pool and dipped a toe into the blue water. The ripples reached the other end, but his eyes went further. He scanned the trees around him and, sucking in a breath, turned to face his empty house.

The walk back to his bedroom was long and cold, and Steve thought of demodogs crawling up Billy’s legs to eat off his face while he laid there in silence and horror. Steve wrapped his blankets around himself tightly before he turned his lamp off, then gazed at the bloody towel under his desk chair until sleep shut his eyes for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is based on boy pablo's song 'Everytime'. Very pretty and set the mood to me writing this. My other Billy/Steve fic is getting very uninspiring, and I stole a few elements from it to write this. Love a bit of self-plagiarism. Bonne nuit, mes amis xx


	2. Dun da dun dun, da da dun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's a tea guy, but he doesn't like birds.

Steve woke up to tapping on his window. He was frozen under his covers, heart beating wildly in his chest. After a minute or two of silence, he started to think that it had been his imagination, or the remnants of a weird dream carrying over into the real world. Then he heard it again. Tap. Tap. Tap. He glanced over to where his bat lay at the opposite wall of his room and silently curse himself for leaving it so far from his reach. One of the bat’s nails was darker than the rest, the one that had dug itself painfully into Billy’s skin. Billy, Steve thought. Could it be?

Steve slunk out of his bed quietly, making his way in a crouch to his window. Just as he got close enough for his nose to be almost touching the glass, a small piece of gravel flew up and struck the pane right at his eye level. He ducked instinctively and barely managed to hold back a squeak of fright. Eventually, he decided that demodogs could not throw rocks, and that he was probably safe. He stood back up and, looking down into his backyard, groaned when he saw the blue denim and fluffy blonde hair of Billy Hargrove. Predictable.

His window opened with the whine; the hinges stuck together in the cold. Of course, Billy didn’t say anything and stared up at Steve as if _he_ were the one being woken up in the middle of the night instead. Steve sniffed and wiped a bit of snot off his top lip.

“What are you doing?” he croaked out to Billy, leaning an elbow on the windowsill so he could rest his congested, sore head on his hand.

“Nothing,” grumbled Billy, then he whisper-yelled, “are your parents home?”

When Steve told him they weren’t, he walked back around to the glass door and stood there with his hands in his jacket pockets. Steve let his head fall back with annoyance, then he trudged down the stairs to the back door.

“What,” Steve said once he had the door half open. He was glaring at him with sleepy reproach.

“Nice clown hair,” said Billy, unaffected by Steve’s less than welcoming greeting.

“Fuck off. You just woke me up, I’m not going to get pretty for you.”

Billy didn’t react. “Can I come in?”

“No,” Steve said, but he opened the door up properly after another few moments of glaring.

Steve made his way over to the kitchen with Billy trailing behind him. “Close the door, would you?” he called over his shoulder, and Billy did, even if it was a bit too hard. While his back was turned, Steve ran his hands quickly though his hair to flatten it out a bit.

 

“I don’t want tea,” said Billy when he figured out what Steve was rummaging around for in his cupboards.

“That’s nice,” Steve said without looking up. His Mum had brought home a packet of Irish Breakfast from Dublin last week and Steve had forgotten where she put it. Not where Steve kept the tea, anyway.

“So, you’re a tea man.”

Steve had to snort at this; Billy was struggling. Steve thought it served him right for waking him up.

“Yep. That a problem?” asked Steve. He wondered if Billy could hear the grin in his voice.

“Um, no?”

Obviously not, then.

“Go sit down, I’ll be there in a sec,” said Steve, pointing to the white leather couch in his loungeroom. Steve listened to the floorboards creak under Billy’s feet while he filled the kettle. He braced himself on the bench to stare out the kitchen window as it boiled and thought about how much he wished he could breathe without snot again. They didn’t say anything to each other until Steve sat down next to Billy, holding his tea.

Billy was sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap fidgeting with a gold ring on his right hand. He wasn’t looking at Steve and broke the silence with a too-loud voice.

“Spoke to Max,” he started, looking at his hands. “She reckons that we shouldn’t tell the rest of them that I know about it all.”

“Do you agree?” asked Steve.

“Yeah, I guess.” Said Billy, still fiddling with the ring. Steve felt like grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands apart. “I don’t want to be involved next time the world starts spewing up demons.”

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Steve said, although deep down he didn’t really believe that. If it happened once, it could happen again.

Spotting his Dad’s rubik’s cube on the coffee table, Steve leaned over, grabbed it and tossed it into Billy’s lap. Billy caught it, seemingly without thinking, then finally looked up at Steve with a hint of what might’ve been embarrassment.

“Max gives me stuff when I talk, too,” Billy said quietly, rotating one of the sides and ruining his Dad’s perfect colour-matching.

“Yeah, ‘cos it’s fucking annoying when you fiddle with your hands,” responded Steve. He didn’t mean to come across so harsh, the words just kind of fell out of his mouth. Billy didn’t seem to mind though.

“Are you sick?” asked Billy.

“Yep, I’ve had it since last Sunday,” responded Steve. Billy hmm’d but offered no apology for dragging Steve out into the cold that night and making him sick in the first place. Steve thought that maybe his previous comment _had_ affected Billy. He wasn’t as easy to read as Steve had once thought.

“Are we friends, man?” Billy asked, focusing on his rubik’s cube again, progressively making it worse and worse. Steve had no chance of fixing it before his Dad came back home. Not that it really mattered.

“No,” said Steve flatly. He wanted to shock Billy, or annoy him, but again Steve hadn’t appeared to ruffle him at all. Billy kept his cards close, it seemed.

“Why?” Billy pressed. Steve frowned and took a sip of his tea. What side of Billy was he dealing with tonight? He’d never wanted to be friends with Steve before.

“Because you punched me in the face and gave me a black eye, threw one of my friends up onto a wall, insulted me in front of basically the whole school and told me I have clown hair. And there’s so much more, Hargrove,” Steve said, then finished his tea with one final gulp.

“Wow. You’re still pretty sore, hey?” Billy said, grinning up at Steve. “What about beating you at basketball, that make the list too?”

“No,” Steve responded. “You’re just better than me.”

“Or meaner,” Billy reasoned.

“Both,” finished Steve, and then he got up to put his cup in the sink for the morning.

“Is that why you’re here?” Steve called out from the kitchen. “To be my friend?”

“Maybe,” responded Billy when Steve came and sat back down.

“Well,” Steve muttered, “you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.”

“Do you want me to apologise?” Billy asked, pulling an orange cushion out from behind his back and holding it in his lap. He continued to fiddle with the rubik’s cube on top of the cushion.

“Do you want to apologise?” Steve countered. He was sick of always being the bigger man, of backing down. He’d done it enough with Nancy, always coming back to her with his tail between his legs, begging for her to forgive him after they’d argued.

They didn’t say anything for a while, both caught up in their own thoughts. Steve thought about how he might feel if Billy did apologise. Would he be able to accept it, and with it an unspoken offer of friendship? Or would he always feel wronged by Billy no matter what he said was forgiven. He thought of the rage he’d felt, that he still felt, when he’d seen Lucas shaking against Joyce’s broken shelf with Billy screaming at him, threatening to kill him. His expression of pure, blind hatred as he threw punch after punch at Steve’s face. He suddenly got the urge to scream at Billy, to make him leave. He had no right to come into Steve’s house and ask him why they weren’t friends. How could he forget what he’d done so easily? Or laugh about it? Steve felt sick.

“I want to apologise,” Billy said before Steve had a chance to figure out what he was going to say. Billy didn’t see the look of disgust Steve was giving him, as he’d started tracing the medieval horse embroidery on the cushion with his finger. “But I know…” He bit the side of his lip and frowned, “that you won’t accept it. I wouldn’t. If someone had done that to me. Or to Max,” he finished. Steve knew Billy was thinking about the same event that he was, but he refused to be softened by what Billy said. It was all too much to come back from.

“You’re right. I’ll never forgive you, Hargrove.” He couldn’t be friends with someone who’d done what Billy had done so freely, with such enthusiasm. There was something very wrong with the boy sitting next to him, and he wasn’t going to let Billy’s evil presence into his life once he’d finally gotten rid of the other monsters. All Steve wanted was peace.

Billy stretched back into the couch and turned his head to the side so he could stare at Steve. His eyes were half-lidded and lacked any expression at all.

“We’re never going to be friends, then,” Billy whispered.

Steve had preferred it when they were both sitting straight ahead, unable to study each other. Now, he felt like he had to shift around to face Billy and even the playing field. Was this a game to Billy? To see how long Steve could hold onto his anger before he broke? Would Steve eventually crumble and agree to fix the rift between them, or would he smash something heavy and sharp over Billy’s head? Even Steve himself didn’t really know, and he didn’t want to find out.

“I don’t think you should come back here.” At first, Steve didn’t think Billy had heard him, but then he turned his head away and pushed himself up off the couch. When he left, he closed the door behind him softly, like someone would if they didn’t want to wake a sleeping loved one. Steve didn’t even hear his footsteps as he left, but he heard the engine of his Camaro sputter into life and fade away up the road.

Steve couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, angry thoughts of betrayal and violence running through his brain until he felt like throwing something. The pressure behind his eyes didn’t fade until about noon the next day, when he finally managed to take a nap on the same couch that he’d sat so furiously on a few hours before.

When he woke up, there was a moment where Steve remembered what he’d dreamt and realised vaguely that, for the first time since Dustin had taken him into the bunker, he hadn’t had nightmares about demodogs. But his mind wandered, and Steve soon forgot.

 

~*~

 

It was a Friday, and Steve was helping Joyce set the table for dinner. DnD night was going ahead at full force in the Byers’ sitting room and Steve didn’t envy Joyce’s task for when it was time for the kids to come up to the table and eat. One night, when he’d been tired and more naïve about the ruthless energy that ruled DnD nights, he’d gone to call them up for Joyce. His ears still rang from the memory, and although he felt bad for her, he didn’t offer to do it again. Joyce was better at convincing them anyway.

He listened to their whining and yelling echo through the small house as he filled dirty pots and pans with water to soak. He heard Johnathan’s door open amidst the madness down the hall, and then his cautious footsteps shuffling up to the table before they stopped. He was such a weird guy, Steve thought. It was his own home; he could sit down. Or at least say something.

Steve cleared his throat. “How’s school going, man?” he said, turning around to lean back on the sink. He was going for casual, but he regretted it when he felt some of the water that had splashed up from the tap seep into his t-shirt. Too late now, he thought.

“It’s good,” nodded Johnathan, too enthusiastically for the situation. Steve wondered again how someone could be so uncomfortable in their own home.

“Mr Jeffords still showing everyone his bird watching photos?” Steve had been cornered by that teacher one too many times after chemistry class. There was only so many times he could say “Well, I’d best be heading off!” before he was forced to fabricate some kind of emergency and duck out before Mr Jeffords could call his bluff. He knew people who had quit chemistry because they just couldn’t stand seeing another ‘Great Tit’ or ‘Northern Raven’. Steve suspected they had also not been able to understand the difference between molar mass and weight, but it was a funny thought regardless.

“Yeah,” Johnathan smiled a bit, which was a win for Steve. “He asked me how to improve the quality of his action shots a few days ago, but before he let me tell him he had to show me about fifty of his failed attempts. I’ve seen enough bird-shaped smudges to last me a life time.”

Steve didn’t know if it was because of Johnathan’s weird delivery, his voice scratching and creaking over every funny bit, or just the mental image he had of Johnathan’s panicked face as he tried to escape Mr Jeffords’ birds, but he started laughing harder than he had in months. His laughter triggered Johnathan’s, and by the time Joyce had managed to herd the kids into the kitchen they were both gasping for air with tears rolling down their faces. Dustin was ecstatic and started begging Steve to tell him what was so funny, and Mike was staring at Steve as if he’d grown another head. Will just smiled crookedly at Johnathan, and then at Joyce, as if they were sharing their own little joke. Steve wiped his face with his sleeve and tried his hardest to get birds off his mind so he could help Joyce plate up everyone’s food. Throughout the whole dinner, amidst chatter of school work and new movie releases, Johnathan or Steve would cough back a laugh and set each other off again. Steve felt a lovely warmth gather in his heart as he forced down giggles with Johnathan and tried to listen to Max’s fifth retelling of her story about almost getting “hit by an eighteen-wheeler monster truck!!” while she’d been skating down little Redmond Street. Joyce was beaming.

 

Steve had a little trick of hanging out on the front porch when it was time for him to take Dustin and Lucas home. If he stayed inside the house, they’d start showing him stuff or asking him to “wait a minute while I…”, and Steve would be conned into staying an extra half hour while they ran about doing not much at all. Now, he would yell out to them as they packed up their game that he’d be “leaving in fifteen minutes!” and use the time to sit on Joyce’s rocking chair out the front and reflect on his week. He pretended he didn’t hear Dustin and Lucas telling each other that Steve would never leave without them, so they could take as much time as they wanted, because they always ended up coming out on time.

Steve heard Billy’s Camaro before he saw it. It sprayed gravel and dust from its wheels as it rumbled to a stop right in the middle of the driveway. Steve watched the dust rise in moats over the yellow glow of the headlights. They flicked off, which was odd; normally Billy left them on while he waited. This was followed by the driver’s side door clicking open and Steve felt his stomach drop. Billy always stayed in his car to wait for Max, why did he have to choose now to change his habit?

His boots crunched menacingly over the gravel as he strolled, casual as you please, up to the front porch. The little bit of light that peaked through Joyce’s curtains ran in a golden stripe up Billy’s side. Steve thought he looked like the baddie out of a race car comic he’d read when he was a kid.

“Hiya, Harrington,” he greeted, all grins and walking-on-air coolness. He wandered up the steps and leaned against one of the banisters, close to Steve’s rocking chair.

“Max is still inside,” Steve said, pointing out the obvious but not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Billy with a touch of sarcasm. He didn’t sound mean in Steve’s mind, just amused. They waited together in silence for the kids to appear. Steve regretted he hadn’t told them he’d leave in five minutes rather than fifteen.

Surprisingly, Max was the first one to pop her head out of the door. She did a double take when she saw Billy not in his car, and shot Steve a sympathetic, panicky look. Little does she know, Steve thought.

Apparently not one to leave an awkward silence silent, Max started rambling on to Billy about school while she put her shoes on. Something that, from the look on Billy’s face, wasn’t very normal for them. Steve had to hide a smile behind his hand at Max’s chatter.

“…and then Mrs Carol waved her arms about and almost knocked someone’s battery powered car off the shelf, I think it might’ve been Daniels, and everyone started laughing! Except Lucas, he can’t seem to get his lights to switch on and he’s _really_ frustrated. Anyway, Mrs Carol started going on about…” Steve lost focus on what she was saying, because when she’d mentioned Lucas, Billy’s face had changed. Steve couldn’t figure out if this was a bad thing or a good thing. The moment was gone when Dustin and Lucas came barrelling out of the door, gasping as if they’d just escaped a wild animal. Steve kept rocking, and waited for them to calm down and get their shoes on like Max. He saw the moments both boys realised who else was standing there. Dustin threw Billy a big dirty look, and Lucas’ face went blank and impassive.

“Lucas,” Billy said, and Steve got ready to get up and defend the kid whose movements had frozen in an instant. “Max just told us you’ve been having trouble with your car. What’s up with it?”

Lucas didn’t respond for a moment, then “It’s just a shitty battery car, nothing I can’t fix.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure,” said Billy, not unkindly. “But I reckon it needs new wiring by the sounds of it? If your lights aren’t working?”

“I’ve tried three different wires already,” said Lucas, frustration creeping into his voice.

“Maybe the glue you used-“ started Billy, but Lucas cut him off.

“It’s eighth grade shop, I think I can figure it out myself.”

“Hey,” Billy held his hands up in defence, “I work with cars, and cars have batteries. Technically, all cars are battery cars.”

Lucas looked like he wanted to say something, but maybe didn’t know how.

“If you’re following an old curriculum, chances are they used to use proper conductive glue back then and had to cut down on costs since. Does it say to sandwich a blob of glue between the battery and the wire, rather than putting the glue on last?”

Lucas nodded, but Dustin piped up that “It didn’t! It said to put the glue on last!”

“No, you just can’t read instructions, Dustin,” Lucas told him.

“Put the glue on last, see if that helps,” said Billy, then he grabbed Max’s bag off the deck and started walking down the steps. He and Steve looked at each other for a moment, but neither of them said anything and Billy went off to his car.

Max’s eyes were the size of saucers.

“Oh my god,” Dustin whispered, and Lucas dug his elbow into the other boy’s side, eliciting a little “yow!”.

“Alright troops, let’s go,” Steve announced like he always did, and that seemed to break the spell for Dustin. He ran down the steps and called out to Lucas “First one to the car gets dibs on next week’s theme!”

Max followed him after sharing a little glance with Lucas, but Lucas didn’t join her; he waited for Steve to stand up before walking with him to the car.

“You good, Lucas?” Steve questioned softly. The kid only shrugged and mumbled “I guess.” He looked a bit dazed, and Steve felt awful for him. As much as Steve knew that Billy had only wanted to build some kind of trust between himself and Lucas after what happened, he’d corrected Lucas on something he thought he was good at. Now, not only had Billy roughed Lucas up and threatened to kill him a few months ago, but now he was pretending nothing had happened and insulting Lucas’ knowledge of technology. Poor kid, he thought. Steve himself was getting whiplash from Billy’s weird personality changes over the past few weeks, and he hadn’t even had a reason to be frightened of him. Not like Lucas did.

Steve had to wait for Billy to pull out of the drive before he did; Billy’s car was sitting right behind Steve’s back bumper bar. He heard yelling coming from Billy’s car and quickly turned the radio up to drown it out. He glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw that he hadn’t been quick enough; Lucas was twisted around so he could peer out the back window and was watching intently. Steve tapped his fingers to ‘Careless Whisper’ and waited. Dustin was tugging on his seatbelt, trying to readjust it and failing. Billy’s engine roared up over Wham’s saxophone solo and he and Max drove off with what Steve thought might be urgency, or perhaps just Billy being Billy. His mind buzzing with Billy-centred theories, he drove the kids, and then himself, home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have careless whisper stuck in my head (see: the chapter title). This one was fun, but honestly this was supposed to be a oneshot. Now I have to had an actual plan, poor me:'( My little brainwave is that everyone's parents stopped letting them ride home on their bikes after little Will went missing (a natural reaction), and that's why the picking up business. Steve is doing it for the same reason that he helps Joyce in the kitchen: He is a sweet, generous soul, and he doesn't have anything better to do.


	3. paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the slippery decline from indignation to acceptance.

Steve came to in the middle of a road in the darkness. His body was numb, and he felt paralysed. The wet breath of something sinister ghosted over the backs of his knees. He couldn’t turn around.

A pair of headlights were growing brighter and brighter as they approached him, but Steve couldn’t move. He could barely twitch his fingers at his sides. He heard the engine after a short while, heard it slow until it was a soft purr. The driver dimmed the lights to half beam once they came to a stop, and Steve’s legs gave out. He stopped looking at the car, at the driver. He heard the door open and feet hit the bitumen.

“Are you okay?” Steve heard a voice call out and he knew at once who it was. He didn’t respond and watched Billy’s sneakers walk up to him cautiously. He knew he should get up; he knew what Billy was seeing was strange and Steve didn’t want to have to explain himself. He wouldn’t have even known what to say. Despite all of this, he didn’t move.

Billy crouched down in front of Steve, asking questions Steve couldn’t understand. He had a torch and he shone it in Steve’s face. Billy said something else and it was as if the words he was saying were in another language or spoken through a handful of cotton. He felt hands pulling him up by his arms and then Billy’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the car. He pushed into Steve’s shoulder with his other hand, trying to get him to look at his face, but Steve kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. He sensed the demodog behind him, scraping its claws along the road and teasing him with anticipation and fear. He was guided into the back seat of Billy’s car, and then the heat from its air vents hit Steve’s hands and feet and he realised how cold he was. He shivered violently for the entire car trip, and he still couldn’t understand anything that Billy was saying.

It felt like barely a minute later when his backseat door was opened, but something told Steve it had been a fair while longer. He was walked up a pathway and into a drafty, empty feeling house, and then onto a couch in front of an electric heater. Billy put a blanket around him like a cape, then disappeared. Steve couldn’t move his head to track where he went.

As he sat there, Steve focused on trying to make sense of what Billy was saying. The sounds that he knew where words where constant, and he blinked hard to clear his head.

“-high on something? I have some uppers in the car if you want me to get them. Nod if you do.”

Finally understanding, Steve shook his head. He didn’t think he was high.

Billy came back after a moment and crouched in front of Steve, this time with a cup of black tea. Steve managed to take it from him, but he rested it on the arm of the couch for fear of spilling it on himself.

“What happened, man?” Billy asked him.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied distantly. “Where am I?”

“My house,” said Billy.

“What about your Dad?”

“Neil’s not home this week.”

Billy got up after a moment and left the room again. Steve pulled the blanket around himself more firmly.

He heard bare feet tapping against floorboards someplace else in the house, running down a hallway until they stopped. A door was shut, and Billy came back into the front room.

“Sorry about Max,” Billy said. Steve smiled a little and tried to sip his tea. It was too hot and scalded the roof of his mouth. He must have flinched, because Billy quickly grabbed it off him and apologised. “I haven’t made anyone tea in ages, I’ll put some cold in.”

Steve looked up at Billy when he was given his not-so-boiling tea back. “Thanks, Billy.”

“You haven’t called me Billy before,” he responded, tilting his head with a grin. “If all I needed to do was burn you with some tea, I would have done it ages ago.”

That comment was a little too much to unpack, and Steve put it away for later.

“What’s the time?” Steve asked, realising his watch was still on his bedside table at home.

“A little before 4am, I found you on the road at 3:15. What were you doing?” Billy pressed, sitting down on the floor in front of Steve.

Steve pressed his palms into his eyelids and shook his head. “I must’ve been sleep walking, I don’t know. I have no idea how I got there; I don’t even remember going to bed.”

“You haven’t been getting much sleep, have you?”

Steve shook his head again.

“Might have something to do with it.” Billy concluded.

Steve drank more of his tea. “How did you know I haven’t been sleeping?”

“You look like a zombie, man. Your eye bags are purple like you got punched or something,” Billy said seriously.

“How do you know I wasn’t punched? Might have got into a fight,” Steve said.

“Trust me, Steve,” replied Billy. “I know the difference.”

Steve sighed; he didn’t want to get into this again. Maybe another time, but not tonight. He was exhausted.

Mumbling, Steve asked “Can’t just imagine I’m a hard-ass? That would be way cooler than an insomniac.”

“Hey, don’t worry Stevie. I know you’re a hard-ass with those demon dogs, even if you barely have the guts to swing at me.”

Steve shuddered.

“Oh shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned them,” Billy apologised, eyes wide. He brought a hand up to rest on Steve’s knee. “Is that why you’re not sleeping?”

Getting no response, Billy continued. “They’re all dead, Steve. You told me yourself, and they won’t be coming back-”

“No one knows that. Least of all you,” Steve snapped. Billy didn’t draw his hand away like Steve thought he would.

“Look, I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

Steve didn’t know where to look. Normally he could get Billy to snap out of his weird bouts of intensity, but apparently not this time.

“I don’t want help,” he told Billy.

“But you need it,” Billy said without hesitation. “And no one else seems to be helping you.”

“There’s no one who can,” Steve said, weakly. He felt sweat beading up under his sweater but decided not to move away from the heater.

“Why?” Billy asked. He didn’t seem too interested in the response; he probably already knew the answer.

“No one else… no one else is going through this, I don’t even know what _this_ is.”

“But there were others, weren’t there?” Billy asked. “Others you can talk to?”

“Yes, there were others, of course there were others, but-“ Steve ran his hands through his hair. “They all have each other. I’m not one of them.”

“I don’t understand, Steve. You were all in it together, I saw you guys.”

“I was… somewhere in the background. I’ve always been in the background with them. Even more so now that Nancy and Jonathan…” Steve responded, almost to himself. He started to whisper, “I’m not a kid, I can’t ask my mum to leave the hallway light on at night or ask my Dad to check under my bed before he leaves. I don’t have school to distract me, or a group of buddies with walkie talkies to call at any hour of the morning. But I’m not an adult, either. I don’t have a family to look after, I don’t have _any_ life experience. I’m in the middle of everything, and I’m…” He broke off, feeling tight in his throat. “I’m alone.”

Steve wished Billy would say something. He was embarrassed, half expecting Billy to start laughing, or to point out some annoyingly logical solution to Steve’s… Isolation? He didn’t know if that was the right word. Maybe it was.

Instead, Billy pulled Steve’s hands out of his hair and rested them in Steve’s lap. He shifted forwards until he was practically leaning into Steve’s knees, and Steve could feel the slight, soft give of Billy’s stomach. After a quiet moment, Billy leant forwards and, thinking he meant to help him up, Steve did too. But Billy was too close, it was all too close, and Steve couldn’t look away. He knew at once what was happening, and he didn’t move.

Billy’s hand held the side of Steve’s neck as their lips met gently. He could feel air from Billy’s nose exhaling softly on his face, running through the fuzz on his cheek and creating a microscopic hurricane. Billy’s breaths were shaky, betraying his battle between confidence and nerves. Steve didn’t like that he was nervous; he knew that if either of them regretted this it would end badly for both of them.

Steve pushed Billy away with both hands on his shoulders. He kept his lips on Billy’s, unmoving but persistent. Steve knew that if he broke the kiss, he would break the moment. He slid off the couch onto the floor and, with Billy now between his legs, began to kiss him as he had once kissed Nancy. He was soft, in a way Steve didn’t know to expect, but it was a softness that demanded more. Steve could give more.

He pushed his fingers up into the hair at the back of Billy’s head and opened Billy’s mouth with his own. He could still feel how wary Billy was in his movements and in his breathing, almost to the point of self-consciousness. Steve tried to put more of himself into each kiss, to hold him a little tighter. He wanted Billy to know that he wanted him. For that to be the only thing that mattered.

They both jumped when the _shrrrk_ of Max’s walkie broke the silence of Billy’s house. They pulled away from each other and Billy started to scootch back. Steve quickly put a hand on Billy’s and tried to get Billy to look at him. He didn’t for a moment, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to, but then his head tilted up and Steve noticed the tears wetting his eyelashes.

“What,” said Steve, barely audible. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Billy said, his voice week and creaky, and then gruffer, “I’m just sweaty, this heater’s really hot.”

Steve couldn’t stop him from getting up this time. Billy unplugged the heater, then picked up Steve’s mug from the carpet. Steve watched him try and compose himself as he took it back to the kitchen.

Steve rubbed his face, his mind blank and his cheeks hot and glowing from a little more than heat. His lips tingled, the only physical reminder of what had just happened. He got himself up, folded the blanket he’d been given and chucked it onto the corner of the couch.

Not wanting to remain in the room alone, nor leave without saying anything, Steve followed Billy into the kitchen. He found him staring into an open cupboard.

“Whatcha looking for?” Steve asked lightly.

“Detergent bottle,” replied Billy. The strength was coming back to his voice and Steve felt slight panic. He glanced at the counter.

“It’s on the edge of the sink,” Steve pointed out.

“Oh,” said Billy, and he closed the cupboard door.

“I’ll be off, then. Let you… clean,” Steve finished awkwardly.

“Do you need me to drive you home?” Billy asked, expression unreadable again.

“No, that’s okay. I could use a walk,” Steve replied. Billy rolled his eyes with a shadow of humour.

“I’ll drive you, just let me make sure Max is asleep,” he said, walking out of the kitchen.

Steve had one last look at the barren, seedy house he knew he’d never be allowed inside again. One lino corner of the kitchen bench was lifting slightly under his fingers. It was truly empty and void of hominess, as if its occupants were merely drifters, moving on to the next house at the end of the month.

“You finished snooping?” said Billy, standing at the front door. Steve thought that was a strong word for simply looking, but he followed him out the door without a response.

~*~

They pulled up to Steve’s house after a mostly silent car ride. Steve had asked Billy about school the next day and gotten maybe half a response. Even though he didn’t initiate the kiss, he felt like he’d done something wrong.

Steve was quick to open the door, but Billy grabbed his upper arm before he could climb out. His grip was tight, threatening.

“If I find out that you’ve told _anyone_ , even those brat kids-“

“Billy,” Steve cut him off. “what do you see when you look at my house?”

“I’m not fucking around, Harrington-“ Billy tightened his grip on Steve’s arm.

“What do you see?” Steve repeated.

Billy didn’t relax his grip, but he looked at Steve’s house.

“Money,” Billy replied shortly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Other than that.”

Billy paused for a moment, and Steve wondered what he was seeing. It was difficult for him to imagine being a stranger to a place he knew like the back of his hand.

“I see a great place for a rager, lots of empty rooms.” Billy said, repeating his earlier sentiment.

“Yeah, lots of empty fucking rooms. Think of this house as a metaphor for my life at the moment, would you? I’m totally alone. I’m not going to tell anyone anything about my life because there’s no one to tell. There’s no one to tell, and even if there were, I would gain literally nothing from telling anyone. I have no friends, and therefore I have no credibility and no one to back me up. I would just look like a weird, jealous piece of shit.”

Steve desperately wanted to get out of the car, but Billy still had a grip on his arm.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Billy said softly.

Steve shrugged his shoulders, hoping Billy couldn’t tell how painfully regretful he was feeling. “I don’t care, man. I’m leaving in March anyway. I’ve got another two months here and then I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Billy asked.

“UK, maybe? Don’t know yet, one of the offices my Dad has connections with. I’m doing an internship instead of going to college.”

“Can’t stay around here?”

“I could but,” Steve grinned with sarcasm. “Any opportunity to leave, right?”

Billy grinned back, “Right.”

Steve waited until he felt Billy’s grip on his arm relax before trying to get out of the car again. Billy leant over the passenger seat and braced his hand on the passenger door as if to pull it closed. He looked up at Steve and bit his lower lip in consideration. Steve waited patiently for him to say something, it would probably be the last time they spoke to each other alone like this.

“You told me I shouldn’t come back. To your house, I mean,” Billy said, building to something.

“Yeah,” said Steve. He suddenly knew where this was going and badly wanted to freeze time; he couldn’t make this decision while looking into those soft, gentle blue eyes that he _knew_ could turn to cruelty in a matter of seconds.

“I’m coming over tomorrow night,” Billy said, taking the decision away from Steve. He lifted his head up to look at the sky.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my loves,  
> I know, this took ages. I rewrote it completely at some point and had in sitting unfinished on my laptop for weeks. I've really had a tough time recently getting through study and dealing with mental health issues. I hope this one isn't too bland, it's the best i could come up with.  
> I'll probably not upload for another month, exams are starting and i have to get at least a %75 WAM (dunno what that is in GPA). big noot. Thanks for sticking by this fic <3


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut, and not the fluffy kind. There is no Steve in this chapter, and I wouldn't say it's necessary to read for the people that don't like smut. It's set pre-Billy's move to Hawkins.

Colin waited for Billy outside the changerooms every Thursday. It was a bit embarrassing; he knew the other boys from the basketball team looked at him funny, but they never stuck around long enough to see what he was waiting for.

Billy walked out from the changeroom doorway with wet hair and his shirt sticking slightly to his chest, and Colin lost his breath like he had every other time. _This_ was what he was waiting for.

Billy walked over to where he knew Colin would be, where he had been the first time and every time after that. He walked past him without looking but Colin felt his hand brush over the material of his shorts. With his heart beating painfully, he followed Billy out of the gym, through the car park and into his car. Billy always waited until he was sure all his team mates would be gone, so Colin was left to wonder why he never greeted him until they were in the car together. Maybe he was trying to avoid awkward hellos, or maybe he just enjoyed the tension, the anticipation of being alone together. Colin didn’t mind. He was just grateful that Billy gave him anything at all.

They drove to the industrial part of town to the abandoned warehouse that Billy had been climbing around in since he was eleven and itching for adventure. Now it was where Billy went to be alone, so Colin never went there without Billy, even if the temptation of finding him there was so great, he had to rub one out in the shower to distract himself. What they had, this routine, was good. Colin didn’t want to ruin it.

 

Sitting on top of a shipping container, Colin swung his legs while he watched Billy throw a basketball against the metal walls of the shed they were in. The sound of it echoed horribly, vibrating Colin’s brain in his skull, but Billy was always sparking with energy by the time he was done, and Colin thought that that was a decent payoff. Billy stopped throwing the ball and jogged over to the container. He pulled himself up with the bars on the doors, muscles flexing with short bouts of exertion and Colin watched him without shame. He’d never had shame, and maybe that’s why Billy hadn’t punched him in the face the first time he’d asked for a ride home. Colin told people what he wanted and, as much as he tried to hide it with all his allusive detachment, Billy loved giving people what they wanted.

Colin laid back, legs still dangling over the side of the container. He closed his eyes and waited. He felt Billy sit down cross legged to his side, facing him, and then his warm hand come to rest on his upper arm. Billy was always a furnace, and this day was no exception; Colin felt the heat from his shirtless torso radiating over his left side and warming his soul. Kisses from Billy were like magic, so when Colin felt Billy’s lips on his he tried to access the part of his brain that preserved memory. He obsessed over everything he could, Billy’s scent, the sound their lips made, the feeling of his tongue running along the jagged bits of dried skin on Billy’s lips.

“Stop thinking so hard,” whispered Billy, his breath ghosting over Colin’s lips and chin.

“I’m trying to memorise what this feels like,” replied Colin, knowing that if he opened his eyes Billy would be staring down at him with his clear, sparkly blue ones.

“I’m not going anywhere,” breathed Billy, and he slid his hand up Colin’s arm to his neck, then his chin. Holding his face with both hands, Billy deepened their kiss until Colin couldn’t form a coherent thought. Billy shifted his body to straddle Colin’s and took his hands, guiding them up to Billy’s waist for him to hold. Colin squeezed the warm skin and muscle under his fingers and made an appreciative noise. Billy didn’t like when Colin touched him without his expressed permission, each time he did Billy would shove him off and Colin would have to wait until the next Thursday to feel Billy against him once more. He’d learnt to lie there, close his eyes and let Billy show him what he wanted.

Billy shifted backwards until he was sitting on Colin’s thighs and his hands could spread over his hips. Colin’s breath caught when Billy’s hand brushed over the bulge in Colin’s shorts, curling around the shape of it and stroking slowly with a relentless pressure. Colin knew Billy was staring at him and he wondered if his body was glowing red under Billy’s touch. He felt like it was.

After a few moments of this, Billy started to pull Colin’s shorts down his legs, and Colin had to supress the urge to lift his hips to help move the material past his arse. He knew it would be taken the wrong way. He wasn’t wearing underwear, but Billy didn’t falter. He lifted Colin’s erection with his warm rough hands and Colin shuddered when he felt Billy’s tongue cover his slit and drag upwards, no doubt tasting his precum. He wished with all his heart that he could look down and watch. The head of Colin’s cock popped through the tight ring Billy had made with his lips, and Billy spent the next few minutes licking and sucking until saliva was dripping off Colin’s cock onto his stomach. He was twitching in his hands. Billy licked Colin into his mouth again and forced him so far down his throat that Bully’s nose was buried in his pubic hair. Colin never liked when he did this. It felt wonderful, better than wonderful, and he always gasped in a way that made him sound like a porno, but he could feel Billy struggling. He choked and coughed with the head of Colin’s cock pressing into the back of his throat, and sometimes he stopped breathing entirely, coming away to gasp and splutter before taking all of Colin back into his throat again. Colin wanted to tell him to stop, and he always determined that he would whenever he thought about it when he was alone, but in the moment, it felt so good that Colin couldn’t bring himself to end it. It was like Billy was punishing himself in a decidedly unsexy way, forcing himself through something that was unpleasant with a kind of enthusiasm that only comes from pent up frustration. After the first time he did it, Colin imagined that he would stop when he discovered that Colin could come from other things as well, but he never did.

Colin’s balls began to tighten, and he warned Billy with a few more shameful porno sounds. Billy sped up his movements and tightened his lips, face pressed so firmly into Colin’s stomach that there would be a red mark when he was finished. Colin shuddered, twitched and came, and Billy gripped onto his thighs and swallowed around him. It was heavenly, and made Colin feel incredibly guilty. Billy sat up and Colin’s wet cock fell back onto his stomach with a shameful slapping sound. Billy wasted no time in getting up off his thighs, reaching into Colin's pocket for his pack of smokes, stealing one and then climbing back down the container. His shoes hit the concrete below and scuffled off to grab the jacket that Colin had seen him hang over a piece of scaffolding. Colin sat up to watch him light his cigarette as he walked out of the warehouse. He didn’t need a ride home in Billy’s Camaro because the warehouse was right near where he lived. Just as well, he thought as he caught a glimpse of Billy’s face; Billy’s eyes were always puffy and red from tears when they were finished. Colin didn’t know why he cried, and it was more than the tears people get when they choke. He used to imagine it was from a kind of gay denial that made him emotional over the thought that he liked men, but when he asked Billy this (without mentioning the crying part), he’d scoffed at him and told him he was “as gay as they come”.

Colin couldn’t escape the feeling that something was wrong with Billy, maybe something had happened to him. He smiled a little to himself, because he knew that one day, he would be able to fix Billy. He just needed to wait until Billy opened up to him, or fell in love with him, and then Colin would wipe away his tears and tell Billy how amazing he was. Colin couldn’t wait. He laid back once again with that little smile on his lips with absolutely no idea that Billy's boss Ken had asked Max why Billy was always late to work on a Thursday. Colin had no idea that Max had chattered something about the creepy abandoned warehouse, and Ken had decided to see what he was getting up to. Colin had no idea that he would never, ever see Billy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's uncomfortable, it's meant to be. Self-harm takes many different forms.
> 
> I'll be back to the main arc soon.


End file.
